Chapter 34
WILLOW
Just before the Easter break, I had a one-to-one with Mrs Purvis, the school’s careers adviser, a harassed-looking woman who’s so patently unsuited to helping people find their dream job that it would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
‘What do you want to do when you leave school, Willow?’ she asked me in her usual weary tone.
‘I want to be a professional agitator,’ I said.
She blinked. ‘A what?’
‘You know, someone who upsets the status quo. Who asks the right questions. Who challenges authority and calls out the people who think they’re untouchable.’
She smiled the exact same smile Simone employed when I announced I was going vegan, like it was a phase I was going through, and I’d soon grow out of it, thank goodness.
I sat up straighter in the hard plastic chair – don’t even get me started on the evils of plastic – and held her gaze.
‘The state the world’s in right now, we need people to call out the liars, the cheats and the hypocrites.
Because if everyone just looks the other way, if everyone keeps swallowing the shit we’re fed by the people in power, we’re completely fucked. ’
Mrs P winced but, credit to her, didn’t give me a detention for swearing. Instead, she glanced at the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration, then cleared her throat and said, ‘Have you considered politics? Or investigative journalism, perhaps?’
‘Yeah, maybe. Does Private Eye take interns? That would really piss off Dad and Simone.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. But there’s always the school newspaper if you want to get your foot in the door. I can have a word with Miss Gregory if you like?’
‘Nah, it’s all good. I’ll rattle cages my own way, thanks. Are we done here?’
‘I… um, yes, I suppose we are.’
‘Good.’ I pushed the chair back, slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out with a spring in my step.
I had a job title. I had a manifesto. Now I just needed a cause.
* * *
Sitting alone in the villa’s stark white living room, I think about my cause and how well it’s going.
It’s gone midnight, everyone else went to bed about an hour ago, and I have the place to myself.
It’s a relief. I’m beginning to wish I’d never come.
Much as I love fireworks – and there have been plenty to watch already this week – the truth is, I’d rather be at home, suntan or no suntan.
I’m making the most of the peace and quiet to wrap the Wicked Stepmother’s birthday presents.
Not that I think she deserves anything, the evil witch, but Dad had a go at me when I didn’t even bother to get her a card last year.
I told him I didn’t have any money so he gave me a hundred quid to buy her a present.
I’ve got her a book of Sudoku puzzles, a packet of Tena incontinence pants and an expensive tub of night cream for mature skin.
I’ve wrapped them in pages torn from the latest edition of the Socialist Worker, a nice touch, even though I do say so myself.
It all came to just under fifty quid. I’ll donate the rest to Greenpeace.
I stick the last bit of Sellotape down on the book of Sudoku and sign my name with a flourish on the sympathy card I chose for Simone.
My thoughts drift to tonight’s barbecue.
Dad took charge of the grill, beer in hand, spending literally hours producing platefuls of charred offerings I wouldn’t have given one of the stray dogs down at the harbour.
No one had thought to cook anything veggie for me, so I had to make do with the Greek salad Maria had made earlier. And they say teenagers are selfish!
The atmosphere was off, and that’s not just me overanalysing.
It was seriously sketchy. Simone had a go at Dad because he wouldn’t stop ranting about the villa down the road.
Barney was completely wasted. Amber looked like someone just died and barely said a word all evening.
Victoria spent most of the night staring at her phone.
When Barney asked what she was looking at, she claimed she was checking to see if there were any messages from their kids.
Yeah, right. Even Dom wasn’t his usual chatty self.
Over dinner, Simone asked if anyone had seen her Tiffany earrings. The conversation went something like this:
Simone: ‘I’ve searched high and low for them, and can’t find them anywhere.’
Dad: ‘You sure you haven’t left them in the safe?’
Simone, irritated. ‘Of course I’m sure.’
Dom: ‘Talking of which, did your Rolex turn up, Felix?’
Dad: ‘No. But as Simone will tell you, I’m always losing things.’
Simone: ‘Ain’t that the truth. Watches, wives, his libido…’
Barney: ‘…other people’s money.’
Dad: ‘Come now, Barney, don’t be like that.’
Simone: ‘I’m going to have to have a word with Maria.’
Me, outraged: ‘Are you seriously saying you think she stole them?’
Simone: ‘I’m not saying anything. I’ll just ask her if she’s seen them.’
Me: ‘OMG, you think she did, don’t you? Just because she works for you, you think she’s a thief. You’ll accuse her of pinching loo roll next! You’re unbelievable.’
Simone: ‘I told you. I’m not accusing anyone of anything.’
Barney: ‘If I were you, I’d look a little closer to home.’
Me: ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Barney didn’t say anything, but his gaze swivelled to Amber, who was staring at a cremated sausage on her plate as if she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to eat it or dispose of its ashes.
She must have sensed we were all watching her, because she finally looked up and said, ‘I haven’t seen your earrings, but I did find something else, Simone.
Your locket.’ She pulled it out of the pocket of her shorts, tossed it onto the table and announced she was going to bed.
Dom, apologising, trotted after her like the obedient little lapdog he is.
Victoria: ‘What’s got into her?’
Barney: ‘Guilty conscience.’
Dad: ‘You don’t think Amber’s our thief?’
Barney: ‘Well, we’ve never had a problem before, and how long has Maria worked here?’
Simone: ‘Five years.’
Victoria: ‘It does seem rather a coincidence. What do we even know about Amber?’
Barney: ‘We don’t, that’s the point.’
Simone: ‘I didn’t know she existed until Dominic announced he was bringing her.’
Me: ‘You don’t even know if there is a thief! The fact you’ve lost a pair of earrings and Dad can’t find his watch doesn’t mean anything. What happened to “innocent until proven guilty”? Talk about a kangaroo court. And you have the nerve to call yourself a lawyer. What a hypocrite!’
Simone: ‘Felix, will you please tell your daughter to show me more respect.’
Me: ‘Dad, will you please tell your wife to stop being a bitch.’
Dad: ‘Anyone want another drink?’
So, yeah. Just another day in paradise.